


Golden Seas

by elecktera



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Lots and lots of imagery, M/M, METAPHORS lots of those, This was written at like 4am as a vent, but yeah John and Arthur deserve infinite happiness I do them dirty w angst, like a lot, poetryLITE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:01:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25620250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elecktera/pseuds/elecktera
Summary: As John held his- his- What was he...? A lover? A friend? A brother?As John held Arthur;  for the first time, for the last time.As the sun rose and Arthur fell,John held him like he should’ve while he was still breathing.
Relationships: John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Kudos: 24





	Golden Seas

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a vent at maybe... 3am? Ended up liking the end result, (despite how sad it made me) and decided to post it :)

He ached. His body, his heart - He ached. 

The gaping wound where his heart once sat, now ripped from his chest pulsating, bleeding. He ached and yet felt nothing at all.  _ Numb,  _ creeping in and filling in the cracks. Oozing, pouring over when it became too full. The pain from the bullet still lodged in his shoulder long forgotten. 

As John held his- his- What was he...? A lover? A friend? A brother? As John held  _ Arthur;  _ for the first time, for the last time. As the sun rose and Arthur fell, John held him like he should’ve while he was still breathing. 

_ Breathing _ , he felt like he couldn’t, like he had forgotten. Arthur was John’s breath more than his own lungs. His lifegiver. Arthur was the moon giving wake to the tide. In and out - a whirling rip current, pulling, and pulling, and  _ pulling _ . Arthur was the breeze lapping it’s way through fall leaves and coaxing them to the ground, making way for new life. Arthur was- 

John had dragged him, back to chest, leaning uncomfortably against the mountain with the world resting in his lap.  _ When had Arthur gotten so thin?  _ He felt so small in John’s arms. Arthur. The strapping protector. His  Eudaemon, who had saved him a thousand times over. Who died… protecting him.  _ Saving _ him. His last breaths for John, who felt so unworthy. For Arthur was a golden god, ethereal and good. Misguided at times, but he was  _ good _ \- so good. And John. Well, John was- 

Shattered. He couldn’t seem to remember who he was before this; before losing his Polaris. He had followed and followed until he couldn’t anymore. Until his star faded and- and died. 

When his star had driven him away, he had demanded that John, “Be a goddamned man!” And what else could a man so hopelessly devoted as John was to Arthur do but listen? 

But oh, how it broke him. Tore him apart and left him helpless. It burned its way up his throat, clawing, begging for release. Had him puking, heaving dry when there was nothing left. Pain-  _ Anguish _ , but now mourning. The only thing John had even believed in, had ever followed so blindly, he had abandoned. 

It was never Dutch, no, not really. Dutch could talk, he could dress pretty and smoke fancy cigars. For what he lacked in strength he made up for with big words and empty promises. And while he loved Dutch, everyone knew he would be nothing without his golden son. 

John went back. John turned around, sought out whatever flickering light was left. Pushed past the withering heat in his chest, for how could he leave behind the star he had spent so long searching for. He had felt it then,  _ right then _ ... love. Love so pure, so untouchable, he wanted to sob. But the tears never came. And he found it. 

Except the light was gone. Only the shell left behind, but god- god- he was beautiful. Always. 

And now, as Arthur lay in his lap, his hair a halo, his face so peaceful, John watched the sunrise. 

John chased calm - he had his whole miserable damn life. And here it was, in hues of amber and rose, in Arthur’s eyelashes fanned across his face so delicately. The raging fire in the distance became a slow, searing burn. Gunshots fading into nothingness. 

John thought of joining his star in the sky. For it would be so simple, so easy - to slip and to fall, to crumble and be pieced back together again by the all-encompassing darkness. 

A certain soreness had wormed its way into John’s chest a long time ago, but this- This was different. Here, with his black star in his lap, cold, still, lifeless, his own heart frozen. John knew loss, found it for the first time. He thought he had known it with his father. With Hosea? Maybe. But…  _ This _ . John was but a lost sailor at sea, clouds blanketing the sky in greys and blues, emptying buckets of rain, lashing out with the fierce anger of lightning and thunder. His ship adrift in the seemingly never-ending vastness of cobalt waves. For he had lost the North. Slipping under and drowning in heartbreak when the swell crashed over the hull. 

But then he thought of everything Arthur had lost, and all that he had given in return. Given to a world that had nothing but takes, and takes, and  _ takes _ . And Arthur had done so willingly, had given everything he could offer, in small gestures and kind words. 

In Arthur losing Isaac, but still loving Jack in a way that John couldn’t, in offering a hand to strangers when Arthur’s breaths were more wheezing than anything else.  _ Selfless _ . Always. Anteros himself standing impressed at the soul laid so bare before him. Golden. 

He ran a shaking hand through Arthur’s hair and took a steadying breath. He nearly choked on it, the weight of death clamping a clawed hand around his throat too heavy, too profound. 

John screamed. He screamed and screamed until his throat felt raw, pinpricks, bleeding him out. And nature cried back. For what was once a beautiful sunrise, golden, just like Arthur, was now grey and sullen. Rain riding its windy steed, greeting John with a sympathetic kiss. And he and the mother mourned for the loss of the sun. 

He shut his eyes, slipping, falling, cracking open. 

Death greeted its victims when it was ready when he had a place for them in his dominion. But Death left people behind. It left men wild and ravaged, searching and searching for something that was long gone. The final farewell never uttered. 

And then John cried. Wracking sobs that had him clutching at his stomach. Wrecking him, tearing him apart like half-starved wolves. Teeth voracious and primitive, biting at his flesh. And he’d let them; oh how he’d let them. If only he could see Arthur one more time, just  _ one _ . Cradle his face between his cracked, bleeding palms, remind Arthur how good, how special he was. How much John needed him. 

He stared at his long-forgotten colt, rusted in some places from John’s lack of attention. He wasn’t like Arthur in that way. Arthur cared, he was meticulous. Looked after others rather than himself. John squeezed his eyes shut once more,  _ why was he so tired? _

Oh, that ache was still there. Drumming away, his heart on-beat. Silence. Gold melting, burning, turning molten crimson in John’s arms. 

And he let himself fall, following his star for the final time. 

  
  



End file.
